The gift of a dead uncle
by Havokmaster3133
Summary: Who knew a dead man could give so much?
1. Frostcrag Spire

-1

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Oblivion, or any part of the Elder Scrolls Universe.**

**Chapter 1: Gift of a dead man**

What a gyp. His stupid uncle died, and all he got was some stupid house up in the freezing Jerall Mountains. How stupid. Arch Mage Aren Farthen was sick enough of living in Bruma and its tall, drunken Nords. That's why he sold his home and moved. All he needed was another freezing house, but now he was forced to claim it where there were no other Dunmer who could relate to his life. Bundling himself up, he clambered onto his old bay horse and headed out of the Imperial City to his new home, which he planned to sell as soon as possible.

After a week of intense travel (which involved getting lost, fighting bandits, being rescued by an Imperial Forester and getting his most valuable clothing stolen out of his backpack while he slept), Aren finally arrived at where his old uncle's tower was supposed to be. Looking up in awe, he marveled at the gigantic tower where he was supposed to now live. The huge structure had several large, unwieldy additions that almost caused Aren's inner Magicka reserves surge through him. Even the door itself was intricate and mystical. As Aren walked up the several stone flights to his new home, the beautiful doorway opened without even his touch. "Hmm," Aren thought to himself. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all."

Inside seemed to be disappointing, however. All he saw was a dusty old tome on a Frost Atronach's hand, which had been fashioned into a small table. Upon picking up the tome, Aren's complaints died in his throat as part of the wall he was facing opened to an exquisite great hall. To his left and right, Aren spotted magical portals , he guessed to the higher sections of the tower. At the back of the hall, there was a raised platform, with sloping ramps going up on each side. Walking up the let ramp, Aren marveled at the items that faced the doorway. On his right, he passed an enchanting pedestal. On his left was a spell crafting pedestal. He noted with dismay that both pedestals were missing Magetallow candles, which were necessary components to use either pedestal.

In between the two, however, was the best part. Aren placed his hands on the dais in front of him, and felt his alchemy supplies twitching, heating up, and freezing at the same time. Confused, he pulled out all the salts he had obtained from battling Frost, fire, and Storm Atronachs. The salts, each performing what they were created to do, floated down to several sections of the hall's floor. The fire salts landed on a section of what seemed to be hot magma. The void salts landed on a section of hard brown dirt, and the frost salts floated down to the one circle of ice. Aren, feeling a spark of inspiration, placed his hands on the dais again, and concentrated on the three circles of ground and salt. In amazement, he watched the spectacle that unfolded in his great hall.

Rushing into the room was a group of necromancers, who had been tracking Aren since he had left the Imperial City in secret. His position as Arch Mage attracted the necromancers who planned to resurrect The King of Worms, Mannimarco. Just as they entered the great hall, Aren's salts took shape. The fire salts morphed into a fire Atronach, the frost salts into a Frost Atronach, and the void salts took shape as a Storm Atronach. The necromancers were surrounded by the three atronachs. Their screams never reached the tower's open air.

Aren watched in amazement as the atronachs destroyed the necromancers with no effort. He looked at his hands, and at the dais that gave the monsters in front of him life. An insane, almost evil power came to his thoughts and manifested in his face. "I AM A GOD!"


	2. Supposed saviors

-1**Disclaimer: I don't own Oblivion, or any part of Tamriel.**

**Chapter 2: Containment**

"Alright people, here's the situation. Our leader, Aren Farthen, has vanished somewhere in the Jerall Mountains. We believe it is here." Raminus Polus pointed to mark on his map. All

the members of his squad of apprentices leaned in closely. "Frostcrag Spire," Polus continued, "is an almost legendary building known as the 'Wizard's Tower'. It is said in many

divinations and prophecies that whoever inherits the place from its creator will go insane. You," Raminus pointed at one distracted apprentice, "do not know what such a powerful

person like our Arch Mage could do. Master Farthen is literally so powerful, he could burn down the entire Imperial City if he sneezed!" The apprentices sniggered at the thought. Polus

looked down at them from his pedestal. "Don't believe me then? Too bad, we are going to go to Frostcrag Spire and get good Mister Farthen ourselves tonight!" The apprentices

recoiled in horror, and the mage laughed. "Don't worry, we have company."

Upon reaching the city of Bruma, the apprentices were met by a group of men in white armor. Each of them held a red kite shield, and a sharp steel long sword. Their leader, a young

Redguard with a headband, stepped up to Raminus. "Greetings, Master Polus," he said, bowing slightly. "Names are not important, "he continued. "All you need to know is that the

Knights of the Nine are here to help you with this problem you speak of."

The seven knights quickly fell in with the apprentices and Polus. As they passed through Bruma, they began to hear several rumors about a large group of necromancers passing by east

of the town. Raminus began to get nervous. The people of Bruma were still spooked about the destruction of The Bruma chapter of the Mages Guild. If those rumors proved true, the

citizens could panic, and the city could possibly be abandoned. That was what Raminus and his allies would try their best to prevent.

Stopping in the armory, the group agreed, they needed better weapons for the apprentices, and the knight's armor needed repairing. After leaving, they continued on to Frostcrag Spire.

And what they saw was the worst sight they had ever seen.

At the foot of Frostcrag Spire was a scene of utter destruction. Over a hundred necromancers were attacking the tower, only to be repulsed by large groups of flame, ice, and storm

atronachs. At the top of the gigantic tower, however, was the most frightening sight. Standing there was the head of the Mages Guild, Aren Farthen. Standing in a suit of shining silver

armor, he shot flames out of his staff, cackling madly and cursing the necromancers with all his might. When his staff ran out of power, he merely threw it downwards at the battle site,

and drew out a new one.

Staring in amazement, the apprentices began to panic, several of them hiding behind the Knights of the Nine, who merely drew their swords. Polus, despite his outer calm, was shivering.

Despite himself, he drew in a deep breath, and prayed that the Arch-Mage would recognize him and the apprentices. Turning to his allies, he called out "My friends! You all know how

many people consider the member of our guild in the Arcane University. They scorn us; they disrespect us; they stereotype us as merely a group of weakling book-readers who do not

know how to fight. Today we shall prove them wrong!

"Knights! You have become what you are right now for a reason: You became a knight so you could protect all who worship and follow the Nine! If even one is killed when you could

have prevented it, it would be a grave dishonor to both you and your cause. The man up there, despite his insanity, is a follower of the Nine. The Nine are the shepherds of all of us in

Tamriel. You must now act as their fellow herders and save even the most crippled and endangered. Knights, fellow mages, Now we Fight!"

**To be Continued…**


End file.
